


Any Last Requests?

by millygal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Death, Coming Out, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 23:18:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie recieves a package, a last request and reminder why she fell in with the wrong crowd in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Any Last Requests?

**Author's Note:**

> This took me for bloody ever. It's text and pictures. An experiment if you will. Turns out, Dean and Sam have better handwriting than we all expected. Oh and Rommie is the Adromeda Control AI from the TV series of the same name for anyone not geeky enough to get that ;)

**Title:** Any Last Requests?  
 **Word Count:** This is a little screwy because there are three different mediums here with words in, the fic itself is 1,322 but it's much longer.  
 **Warnings:** Character Death, after the fact, no gore.  
 **Rating:** PG-13 swears etc  
 **Characters/Pairings:** Charlie Bradbury, Dean/Sam  
 **Summary:** Charlie recieves a package, a last request and reminder why she fell in with the wrong crowd in the first place.  


  
Oh what a fracking day! She could do with a long hot bubble bath, the new Lord of the Rings graphic novel and several glasses of wine.

Trudging through her front door, Charlie throws her bag and keys on the floor and sinks into the supple leather of her worn out couch. "Thank Golum that's over"

She's been working for google for the last 6 months, finally accepting the ever escalating salary they've been trying to tempt her with since she'd opted for the Dick-Monster-Face-Roman Inc position over their's.

It's been a long assed road but she's managed to build her life back up, after everything, after Leviathans and fairy princesses and nightmare computer game dreams. After the boys had tried and failed to seal the gates of hell.

After they all picked themselves up and dusted themselves down.

She's carried on in a consultant capacity to the Men of Letters/Hunters and she can now count them as two of her best and most bizarre friends. Five years of intermittently working your ass off for the guys behind the scenes will do that.

Who'd have ever thought, a genius with a hard on for Hermione Granger becoming a secondary unit in the war against evil. Huh!

She can't quite handle being their go to gal every day, but the few times a year they call her in for service, she enjoys being on the front line, fighting the good fight. She's felt, more than once, like Rommie, sheltering her team on the eve of battle when they've got no other place to go for help but to her.

They don't just wait for the world to be ending either, she's managed to beat it into Sam and Dean that they need friends and days off and fun. She's even managed to drag them both to a convention or two.

The first one was simply so she could see them squirm.

It still makes her chuckle thinking about the other fans at the 'Supernatural-Con' spotting them and thinking that their outfits and hair and weaponry were just out of this world brilliant.

Sam'd sworn bloody vengeance over that one. She still sleeps with one eye open when she has to stay over at the bunker.

She lets her head hit the back of the couch, sighs and turns towards the bathroom, working up the motivation to haul her butt off the couch and go run that luxurious bubble bath she's been envisaging for the forty minute train ride home.

Out of the corner of her eye she spots a thick brown paper wrapped package, nestled next to her mail and the bowl full of useless rubbish she keeps by the front door.

Joints protesting, she eases herself off the couch and reaches for it.

Perfectly parcelled in shiny brown packing paper, string securing the edges, the address label is un marred by stamps or franking machines.

'Charlotte Bradbury' and the men of letters seal is the only writing on the crisp white address label.

"What the frell, how'd this get here?" Opening the front door, just to check she isn't being pranked by the boys, won't find them waiting round the corner with manic grins and another impossible case to solve, she pokes her head out and scopes the hallway.

Nope, no idiot Winchesters armed with dopey smirks and super soakers.

Closing the door, she forgets about her pilgrimage to the bathroom and curls up on the couch in the lotus position.

"What are those squibs up to now!"

Carefully tugging at the string holding the whole thing together, Charlie lets the package slide apart in her lap.

First thing she sees is a piece of paper headed with the MoL's seal.

There seems to be books and envelopes and photos, scraps of tatty paper and file folders full of info.

Spotting her name scrawled in Dean's tidy hand, she starts to scan down the letter,

_'Dear Charlotte...huh! Charlotte, knew that'd annoy the crap outta you!'_

Yep, definitely Dean. Making a mental note to kick his ass for using her given name, she manages a single sentence,

_'Right, I know we've been fighting the good fight for God knows how long, and most the time, death doesn't seem like a huge obstacle for us, but this time I think, well I think we might be beat'_

before her heart stops.

"Wait, WHAT!"

Grabbing her cell she thumbs through and dials first Dean, then Sam. Straight to answer phone on both, "Shit"

She tries a few more times, all the numbers she's got listed in all their different aliases and finally, after ringing out or going straight to answer machine on all of them, she retrieves the letter, hands shaking.

Of course she already knows. What do they think she is, an idiot! Hasn't ever mattered to her. But apparently, it matters to them.

Mattered, anyway.

Shock, pain, a little laughter. All things Charlie's used to feeling when she's with the boys, come tumbling one over the other in her head until the tears are streaming down her face.

Gone, they're gone.

She instantly wants to ring Garth and Kevin and go hunting for a solution, instead she takes a deep breath, swipes a hand across her face and starts digging through the piles of papers strewn about her couch and lap.

The majority of the letters are addressed to some guy called Bobby Singer. The care of labels are scrawled and covered in stains. Varying stages of yellowing around the edges.

 

 

She feels like a voyeur. Some dirty little creep sat staring through a crack in the bathroom door. This stuff, all this stuff, she can feel the pain and longing coming off the pages.

Not for the first time she wishes she could wrap them both in a huge comforting hug. But the Winchesters had never been ones for public shows of anything other than strength and defiance.

She wishes she'd ignored her instincts and their grumpy looks and just given in and hugged the stupid idiots now. Now she can't wrap her arms around them anymore.

She doesn't read everything. There's too much to even think about it. She randomly grabs for bits of rumpled paper, scans through, throws them back into the pile.

One letter stands out though. Thick bundles of A5 pages folded up together and tied. Looks like it hasn't been opened in a century.

It's got 'When you were gone' scrawled on the front and she just can't help herself.

 

As she refolds the last letter, Charlie's glad she's already sat. Her head's spinning, she can't imagine the level of feelings that are being played out in front of her, in tidier than she'd expected hand written notes between the brothers.

She already knows she won't be able to bring herself to look through everything else, she's not sure she'd be able to cope with knowing the inner workings of the two men's lives.

Between the odd post it note and picture she's plucked from the pages and the bundle of heart felt anger and love,

her throat's raw from the effort of not just caving and curling into a tight little ball.

She now understands exactly how much they loved each other. They never said it. They don't seem to have written it down, not to each other anyway, those three little words, but by the looks of the tear stains and multiple greasy smudges from reading and re-reading on some of the pages, neither of them needed it written to know it.

Gathering up the last of the stray bits of paper and photos, she sets two aside, the one of the brothers playing medieval warriors from so long ago and one that must have been taken an age before she met them, looking happy and carefree, and re wraps it all in it's neat little paper bundle.

As she ties the string, she pats the package, hauls herself off the couch and heads down to the incinerator in the basement.

Stoking the flames, she places the package in the hottest part of the fire and smiles to herself, "See you later bitches. Safe journey"

  



End file.
